Chapter 29
Sally poured tea for all the family members in the drawing room, and Alexander purposely took his seat next to Arabella, smiling at her as he did so.
‘I can hardly believe it’s been two weeks already!’ Charlotte declared from across the room.
Arabella ran her hands down her face. ‘It seems like a year ago, and yet it also feels as though it happened just yesterday.’
‘That’s the upset of it,’ Thomas explained. ‘You were traumatized by what happened, and it all feels slightly strange as a result. But tell us, Wellwood,’ he directed towards Alexander, ‘what did the constable tell you when he visited this morning?’
Alexander adjusted his position in his seat and flashed a look over at his mother to check that his talking on the subject was acceptable. A healthy, radiant-looking Margaret nodded her approval.
‘They told us of Marcus–’ Alexander looked again to Margaret, who dropped her eyes to her lap. ‘He is being held imprisoned at Newgate, awaiting trial. They are confident of his guilt, and he admits all that he did, securing my complete exoneration.’
Several gasps filled the air as those gathered expressed their relief, but in muted tones so as not to be disrespectful to Lady Wellwood, who was losing a son through this process.
‘I am so relieved and happy that you can be free now, Alexander,’ Arabella asserted, gently.
‘No more James Macleod for you!’ Thomas joked. Arabella noticed that Charlotte laughed a little too boisterously at this and blushed.
‘The rightful Earl of Wellwood, at last!’ Charlotte declared, and Arabella noticed how Thomas looked over at Charlotte with such a warm fondness, and they held each other’s gaze a little longer than necessary.
‘Lady Wellwood,’ Arabella drew the attention sensitively back to the matriarch, who was conflicted in her emotions. ‘Will you visit Marcus at Newgate?’
‘Oh, no, dear. I think not,’ Margaret clarified.
‘We would not judge you, Mother, should you choose to visit him. We appreciate that he is your son and the situation is not as clear-cut for you as it is for us,’ Alexander generously offered.
‘No, Alexander. I do not wish to see him. He destroyed our family, and despite his admission of guilt, the constable advised me that Marcus shows no remorse. He killed his father and his cousin and attempted to kill you, Alexander, and you, Arabella. There is no benefit to anybody for me to visit him.’
The atmosphere in the drawing room took on a sombre tone as they all nodded in stoic understanding.
Arabella observed how graciously poor Margaret navigated the stormy sea of grief and melancholy in the face of reunion and emotional relief. When she spoke of Marcus now, her voice was laced with sadness, but the fear and trepidation of recent months had evaporated.
Her body had filled out a little as she had begun to eat more, and the pale worry etched upon her face was less apparent as she relaxed and enjoyed the company of people who made her happy.
She had pottered in the garden more these last couple of weeks and no longer feigned the illness that she had pretended to bring her cherished son home.
‘We need some happy news to lift our spirits!’ Margaret suddenly brightened and looked first to Arabella and Alexander and then to Thomas and Charlotte.
Thomas shifted in his seat and inhaled proudly.
‘I think we may be able to assist there, Lady Wellwood!’ Thomas announced and reached over to take Charlotte’s hand. ‘Yesterday, I asked Miss Charlotte for her hand in marriage–’
‘And I accepted!’ Charlotte gushed with excitement.
Arabella stood and went to her sister, her arms outstretched in celebration, and Alexander did the same, approaching his friend with a congratulatory pat on the back. Lady Wellwood stood, clasping her hands at her chest with joy.
‘Congratulations!’ Margaret declared. ‘Sally!’ She called to the maid who stood present for serving tea. ‘Please take this tea away and bring us a bottle of champagne and some glasses to celebrate!’
The laughter and happiness that filled the room banished the darkness that had plagued the Hartwell household for far too long.
***
It was a pleasant evening in the garden, yet the air held an unanticipated chill, so Alexander removed his woollen frock coat and draped it over Arabella’s shoulders as she failed to repress a shiver.
‘No—you’ll be cold!’ Arabella protested.
Alexander laughed a hearty retort. One that had been notably absent for years. ‘This body has withstood minus twelve degrees of Scottish dawn farming with merely a shirt and waistcoat! I think I will survive!’
Arabella was caught between laughing and frowning with sympathy.
‘It must have been so hard for you …’ she observed.
‘The climate I could tolerate. Being without you was the hardest part.’
Arabella looked over at him as they strolled side by side across the lawn, then looked away shyly as his gaze was so intense.
The moonlight illuminated the pathway they meandered along towards the folly at the end of the garden, and Arabella leaned her head back to look up at the stars. The night was clear and the moon large and bright white.
“'Tis said, that some have died for love:
And here and there a churchyard grave is found …” Alexander began orating. He did so tentatively, cautious of this potentially inflammatory recital.
Arabella turned to him with a bright, knowing smile and picked up where he left off.
“…In the cold north's unhallowed ground,
Because the wretched man himself had slain,
His love was such a grievous pain.”
Alexander smiled back at her, marvelling at how very little had changed between them, despite their years of separation and how, in fact, now he had a more sophisticated vision of how their lives might be together.
No longer was he the unseasoned young man with fanciful affections who guessed at a life of romance and whimsical indulgence. Now he was aware of the logistical obstacles a relationship could present and approached such challenges with discernible rationale.
They reached the folly and, having fallen into a comfortable silence, turned to one another, a respectable distance apart, with irrepressible smiles upon their faces.
Alexander grandly gestured towards the stone bench almost comically. ‘Will you sit?’
Arabella recalled the recent times he had offered this opportunity, and she had—staunchly independent and determined to present a cold demeanour—declined coarsely.
It was now a little joke between them, it seemed, and to accept the seat spoke volumes more profound than the mere act of sitting.
Arabella’s eyes twinkled mischievously as she took a mocking moment to consider.
‘Hmm … perhaps …’ Arabella moved around, swishing her skirts as she contemplated the offer.
Finding herself in front of the stone bench, she turned to fix Alexander with a smile and promptly sat.
Alexander laughed in relief as he watched his beautiful Arabella, with her strawberry blonde hair piled high upon her head, sitting on their bench in the mottled light and shade cast by the white moon and the shivering leaves overhead.
Alexander dropped to one knee in front of her and took her hands in his. Hers were cold to the touch, and his were large and warm, enveloping hers like a hug. His wide smile hid itself away, and a seriousness took over his expression as he fixed her eyes with his own.
‘I have learnt so much, Arabella,’ Alexander told her, his voice low and intimate.
‘Years in exile taught me the true value of love. I missed you with every beat of my heart, and whilst my first proposal was authentic, I know I was not the man then that I am today. I have so much more to give you now—I am a stronger, more resilient man who has experienced an impoverished culture, which certainly proves how privileged we are. I have a different perspective on the world, having endured all that I have. But one thing has not changed, and that is the way I feel about you.’
Tears built in Arabella’s eyes as she listened to Alexander’s declaration of love. She blinked and squeezed his hands.
‘I never stopped loving you, Alexander. Even as I stood at the altar with Edmund. You were the only thing on my mind and in my heart.’ A tear released itself and darted down her cheek.
Alexander moved to catch it with his thumb, gently smoothing it across her skin, and she nudged her face into his hand, closing her eyes.
As Alexander took a deep breath in preparation, something in his poise caused her to open her eyes and pay attention to his face.
‘Arabella, please. Will you do me the greatest honour of agreeing to marry me … again?’
Arabella laughed and cried all at the same time as she gushed, ‘Yes!’
Alexander crushed his lips to hers, and they dissolved into an embrace they had both been denied for years.
As Alexander kissed her, Arabella knew that this was not the happy ending to their story, but the beautiful beginning.